


Si Puedes Perdonar

by loracarol



Category: Book of Life (2014)
Genre: Canonical Character Death, F/M, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Not Jorge Gutierrez's twitter compliant, Possibly Pre-OT3
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-23
Updated: 2014-11-23
Packaged: 2018-02-26 16:19:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,049
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2658443
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/loracarol/pseuds/loracarol
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>People often say things they don't mean while they're angry.</p><p>People often say things they don't mean while they're grieving.</p><p>---</p><p>“Oh…” Maria murmured, before grinning weakly, “It looks like we both have a bad habit about telling the people we love things we don’t mean.” That got Joaquin to pause, and he looked over at her, confused. “Can you imagine if we had gotten married? <i>Dios mia</i> our poor children!”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Si Puedes Perdonar

**Author's Note:**

> Beta'd by [QueenOfThePirates](http://archiveofourown.org/users/QueenOfThePirates)

He had been the one to find the body, he didn’t want to be the one to tell Maria as well, but…

He owed her that, he owed _Manolo_ that; she deserved to hear it from him, to know that he was serious about it, that it wasn’t just a cruel prank played by her father, or her father’s men. He hadn’t thought the general would be so cruel, but the request that Maria marry him so soon after Manolo’s death had soured his emotions.

“You’re lying” Maria whispered, looking out at the rain.    

“No, I wish, but no… Manolo is… He’s dead.” He said.

“How…?” Maria’s voice trailed off as she stood in the window, holding onto the sill so hard her knuckles turned white. Joaquin was glad that the general had agreed to leave them alone; the general had never been fond of Manolo, and Joaquin had a feeling that the general wouldn’t have appreciated their mourning.

“It was my fault,” he whispered, joining her at the window, and looking out at the town.

“I forgot, everything is about you,” Maria said, eyes never leaving the spot far in the distance where Manolo had taken her to propose, though the rain made it impossible to see. “What, did you run him through with your sword, and claim it was for my _honor_?” Her tone was flat, save for the bitter slap of the last word.  

“No, but… I might as well have.” Joaquin bowed his head low, shoulders shaking.

“Explain.” Maria’s voice was devoid of emotion, brittle hard in a way that Joaquin had never heard before, and wished he would never hear again. Though with Manolo’s death, he didn’t think that his wish would be granted.

“When we found him--both of you, really--and we thought you were dead…” Joaquin paused, even though Maria stood next to him, alive and well, the image of her cradled in Manolo’s arms wasn’t one that would easily go away. “He said that it should have been him that had died. And I…” Joaquin took a deep breath, “I agreed with him.” He locked his hands behind his back to keep them from trembling, and continued, “And he went back to the tree.” He shivered, and continued, Maria deserved nothing less, “We thought you were dead, and I… I betrayed him. _Mi_ _hirmano_.” He snorted, “I don’t deserve to call him that though, not anymore.”

Maria was as still as a statue, and for a moment Joaquin was reminded of the terrible still way she had laid on the bed, but then she breathed, low and slow, and when she turned to look at him, her eyes were filled with hatred.

Anything other than the horrible blankness that had been reflected since the moment she had learned of Manolo’s passing was a blessing.

“I don’t want to stay here,” she whispered, voice trembling, “The general, he doesn’t understand, he never has.” She drew in a deep breath, “I _won’t_ stay here, Joaquin.”

“What do you want me to do? I’ll do anything for you, Maria.”

“Marry me. Everyone expects you to anyway, right? Marry me, and then buy me a house, somewhere far away from here, where I don’t have to see that tree, or that bridge from my window.”

Joaquin hesitated, but before he could speak, Maria continued, “Marry me,” she whispered, “And then go off on your quests for glory. Protect the town, do what you must to stay away from me. After this wedding, I don’t ever want to see you again.” She paused, searching for something in his face, an argument, perhaps? But Joaquin stayed silent, unspeaking, “Can you do that for me?” She choked back a sob, “call it a… Wedding gift. From husband to wife.”

“Anything for you, Maria,” Joaquin repeated, bowing his head, “anything for you.”

 

* * *

 

It didn’t feel right, marrying Maria, even though he had often dreamed of it. For one thing, Manolo had always been there in his dreams, standing in as his best man, and for another, in his dreams… Maria was always _happy_. He wanted her to be, if she was going to marry him, he wanted it to be because she loved him, and wanted to be with him, not like…

He started, wanting to say something, anything-! He would buy her a house, if she wanted, somewhere far away. He’d be willing to do that without marrying her; _they didn’t have to go through with it._

And then the doors to the church were blown open, and everyone heard the news; Chakal was coming.

And then…

And _then…_

When everything seemed lost, when everything seemed hopelessly bleak…

Manolo was there in front of them, having appeared in a pillar of light.

Joaquin’s first thought was that he too had died, but no, Manolo was _alive_ , and Joaquin was going to do everything in his power to keep it that way. If than meant slipping him the medal, or taking the blast with Chakal, it wouldn’t matter; he would keep Manolo alive.

And then he failed, and Manolo was under the bell with the madman. But he had slipped Manolo the medal, and the pain that Joaquin felt in his eye meant nothing.

 

* * *

 

It hadn’t been his idea to be in the wedding party, but both Maria and Manolo had insisted, and with the entire town watching, he couldn’t say no. It was a _fiesta_ after all, and everyone was invited! Even the ghosts of the dead stayed, mingling with the guests, and joining in the dancing. As dusk fell he was able to make his escape. There was still partying going on after defeating Chakal, why wouldn’t there be? But it was darker, and people were starting to drift off, and he hoped that his vanishing would go (relatively) unnoticed.

Slipping into the stable where his horse had ended up, he noted that whoever had brought it back had removed the saddle, and hung it up properly. He made a mental note to thank them, if he could find out who had done it. Checking over his horse, he was glad to find that the beast had not been injured during the day’s events. He began to put the saddle back on him, but had not gotten far when he was interrupted.

“Oh, Joaquin! There you are!” Maria was in the doorway, “What are you doing in here?”

Joaquin glanced over at her, then back at his work, “I was just saddling up Chico. I’ll leave as soon as I can.”

“Leave? But why?” Maria blinked at him, hands on her hips.

“Your wedding gift,” he replied.

Maria would have slapped him if he had been mocking her, but the sincerity in his voice made her pause. “I promised, didn’t I?” he continued, still buckling the saddle.

“Oh…” Maria murmured, before grinning weakly, “It looks like we both have a bad habit about telling the people we love things we don’t mean.” That got Joaquin to pause, and he looked over at her, confused. “Can you imagine if we had gotten married? _Dios mia_ our poor children!”

Joaquin chuckled quietly at that, Maria was trying to lighten the mood, and for that he was grateful.  “I didn’t mean what I said,” she added quietly. “I would have regretted it. I can’t say when, but…” she paused, took a deep breath, and continued, “I would have regretted it. Please, you don’t have to go.”

“I do” Joaquin said, though he had stopped messing with the tack, and was instead scratching Chico under the chin.

“You _don’t,_ ” Maria said, more insistently, “Stay, _please_.”

“But I promised-”

“-and I’m releasing you from your promise! Can you ever forgive me for asking that of you?” Maria interrupted. “Unless… Do you… Do you _want_ to leave?” Her voice hardly trembled as she asked.

Did he?  

The silence in the barn stretched thin, as Joaquin tried to figure out how to answer her question. Finally he said, slowly, “I don’t _want_ to, but…” He licked his lips, and continued, “I don’t think it would be a good idea. If I stayed.”

“Why not?”

“What do you mean ‘why not’? After everything that’s happened? After everything I did to-” He stopped. “I should have been there for him,” he whispered. “And I wasn’t. And we all saw how that turned out.”

“Oh Joaquin…” Maria breathed out, “did Manolo say something to you?” Her countenance darkened slightly, “Because, husband or no, if he did…”

“No, Manolo didn’t say anything!” Joaquin said hurriedly, turning away from his horse to face her, “he hasn’t said anything to me, don’t worry!”

“Have you even talked to him?” Maria asked, crossing her arms, and giving him a look that made him feel very exposed (and not in a good way). His silence was answer enough, and Maria shook her head at him.  

“There hasn’t been time,” Joaquin pointed out, “I wasn’t about to pull him away from his own wedding to remind him of his own d-” the word caught in his throat, and he realized vaguely that his hands were clenched.

Maria relaxed a little, “today has been very stressful” she admitted, “for all of us, I think.” She reached over, and put her hand on his shoulder, “please, talk to him before you do anything rash” she said, “It doesn’t have to be tonight, but at least try? For me? I’d like that for my wedding gift more than you leaving.”

“And what will I say to him?”

“I don’t know. That’s for you to figure out, but I believe in you.”

“Even if I still had that medal, I don’t think I’d have the courage for this,” Joaquin said, but he nodded, “I’ll try. Just, not right now, I need to think.”

“I’ll promise, if you promise not to leave until you’ve spoken with him.”

“I promise.”

“Good,” Maria said with a nod and a smile, before she turned to walk out the door.

Grumbling under his breath, Joaquin started taking the saddle off of his horse, then went to go find a curry comb. Finding one, he took deep breaths, before he started grooming Chico; his horse did not deserve to have Joaquin’s frustration taking out on him. Joaquin wasn’t even sure who he was frustrated at: Maria for interrupting him? Manolo for dying in the first place?

Himself for being a coward?

His thoughts swirled through his head like a storm, and Joaquin was really not fond of storms. The rain had used to be soothing (if annoying to ride in), but it had been raining the day he had lost his two best friends. The sound which had once been soothing had instead reminded him of tears on that longest of days.

Shaking his head, Joaquin growled slightly. He had to stop thinking about that. He _had_ to. It would drive him mad if he didn’t. He had to figure out what he was going to say to Manolo, after all, he had promised that he would speak to him. But what would he say?

He heard a noise from the other side of the barn, and tensed until he realized it was just someone’s old donkey noising into his feed bag. Sighing, he put the curry comb down, and sat against the side of the stable with a sigh. “What do I even say?” he muttered, “ _Lo siento mi hermano_ , finding your body was the worst moment of my life, and I never want to see that again, take care of yourself? Bah!”   

“You were the one that found my body?”

Joaquin jumped up, startled. Manolo sounded horrified, and was also _right there_ , and he had _heard everything,_ _Dios mio_.

“Did Maria send you out here?” Joaquin asked, moving out of the stall; if Maria had broken her promise…

“No, I was actually looking for yo- I left a body to find?”

“ _Yes_.”

“I… I am so sorry, I did not realize-” Manolo had gone pale, and as he backed up, he looked as though he was about to collapse.

“You did not realize,” Joaquin interrupted, “You _idiot_! You…” He trailed off. Manolo had the muscle and build of a _torero_ , but when Joaquin had carried him across that bridge, he had been far too light. His skin had been terrifyingly cold to the touch, and the _stillness_! Manolo was not meant to be that still; even in his sleep he tended to move about, kicking and tossing. It had made staying overnight at the Sanchez house into an adventure as a child. “You idiot” he repeated softly. His good eye was watering, and he pinched the bridge of his nose to try and make it stop.

“I’m sorry,” Manolo said again, moving to stand in front of Joaquin. He reached up, and put his arm on Joaquin’s shoulder, even as Joaquin flinched away from the contact.

“It’s alright,” Joaquin lied, Manolo knew he was lying; he had always been able to tell, but as his arm dropped down to his side he followed Joaquin, he played along:

“Like I said, I was looking for you. You vanished on me, are you okay?”

“Am I okay? I’m not the one that _died_ Manolo!”  

His words echoed through the barn, and he wished beyond measure that he could take them back.

The silence that fell was long, and Joaquin was just about to say something—anything—to break it when Manolo decided to do so instead. “Believe me,” Manolo whispered with a wry grin, “I had not forgotten.”

“You died,” Joaquin repeated, fists clenched at his sides. He still didn’t know what to say, but he felt as though he had to say _something_ and so the words came spilling out of his throat in a torrent. “You died, and it was my fau- I shouldn’t have sai- I wanted to take everything back, I swear, and I am so, _so_ sorry.” The watering in his eye had turned into tears, and he brushed at them angrily. He was a hero, though not _the_ hero of San Angel, not that day, and he had a reputation to uphold. Even if only in front of Manolo. With a wince--the battle had been the first time he had felt pain in _years_ \--he walked over to one of the bales of hay in the barn and sat down, head bowed. “ _Lo siento,_ ” he murmured. “I am _so_ _sorry_ , and I don’t know if I will ever be able to make up for the unjust things I said.”

Manolo thumped down on the hay bale next to him, and there was silence once more, though this silence was a sad one, rather than a painful one.

“It was my choice,” Manolo said, eventually, “Maria was dead, and I wasn’t thinking properly. But it was still my choice.” He took a deep breath, “It wasn’t your fault.”

“If I had been there-”

“If you had been there, Xibalba would have found another way to cheat.”

“Maybe.”

“There is no ‘maybe’ about it. La Muerta told me the details of their wager while Maria was changing back into her wedding gown. La Muerte and Xibalba have had this wager going on since we were children. If Xibalba won, he would get to rule the land of the Remembered, rather than the Land of the Forgotten. There was no way he was not going to do anything in his power to win.” He shook his head, “I can’t really blame him,” he said under his breath.

Joaquin started at that, and opened his mouth to speak, but Manolo kept speaking; “Not that I approve,” his tone was biting, “and not that I can forgive him for that, even if I understand.” He laughed bitterly, “But what is the forgiveness of a mortal to a god?”

Joaquin just shrugged.  

“Ah, this is getting too deep for me,” Manolo said was a grin, standing up, “especially tonight! Come, Joaquin, let’s go back to the _fiesta_ before Maria starts to worry!” He reached out his hand to help Joaquin up, and Joaquin took it, standing slowly. Manolo’s hand was warm, such a difference from the last time. On impulse, he pulled Manolo into a hug, taking in the sheer face that Manolo was _alive_. Manolo was still for a moment, more surprised than anything else, before he wrapped his arms around Joaquin just as fiercely. “I was never angry at you _mi hermano_ , so there was nothing for me to forgive.”    

“Thank you,” Joaquin whispered.

They stood there a moment, and then Joaquin broke the embrace. “We really should get back,” he said, voice hoarse, “Don’t want Maria to worry.”

As they began walking out of the barn, Manolo reached behind him for his guitar, only to remember that he had left it at the reception. “I want to write a song about this,” he admitted, eyes shining. “About Maria Posada, the smartest and most lovely woman in Mexico! And about the great hero Joaquin who was given the same medal as Chakal the bandit king, but used it to become a hero instead of take over the town!”

“I’m not that much of a hero.”

“You could have done many things with the power it gave you, and yet you instead focused on defending the town!” Manolo interjected. “That’s how I see it, and I’m the song writer.”

“Fine,” Joaquin said, but he was smiling, and his soul was light, “As long as the song writer includes Manolo, the greatest _guitarrista_ in Mexico, who saved the day, and Joaquin’s glorious mustache.”

“How could I forget Joaquin’s mustache?” Manolo asked, eyes wide, tone mock-sincere. “It is the _finest_ mustache in Mexico!”

Joaquin threw back his head, and laughed, loud and long. When Manolo died, he had thought he would never be happy again. “ _Mi hermano,_ ” he said when the laughter stopped, “I am _so_ glad you’re back.”

As they got back to the main party, he looked for Maria; he would need to tell her that he would be staying home. After all, it was where his two best friends—his family—were, and he didn’t want to be separated from them again if he could help it.

Not _ever_.   


End file.
